The Last Request
by Nautonnier
Summary: Before she dies, Lily learns that Snape was the one who warned them about Voldemort hunting them down.  In a rare move, she forgives him for his flaws and requests that Harry spend his summers with her childhood friend should anything happen to the Potter
1. The Only One to Trust

Prologue:The Only One to Trust

"Lily, this is the last time I will be able to see you for a long time. Are you sure you and James are all right? Is there anything more I can do?"

Lily smiled back a little sadly, her green, almond shaped eyes crinkling at the edges. "Don't worry about us, Albus, we'll be fine. Everything's been arranged. James is just now finishing off the last of the protective charms," she nodded her head back at the house behind her which was slowly disappearing behind what seemed like a thick haze. "Our Secret Keeper will be bound tonight and then not even you will be able to find us!"

Dumbledore nodded, but still looked slightly reprehensive. "Are you sure that Sirius is the right man for the job? Have you told him what his role might entail?"

"Sirius? Oh! I forgot to tell you. We've decided to change Secret Keepers last minute. We though You Know Who or….or _one_ _of his supporters_ would guess Sirius immediately. We gave the job to someone less obviously connected to us."

"And who is that?" Dumbledore now looked noticeably uncomfortable.

"Don't fret, Albus! We're using Peter Pettigrew."

"Lily, I know that James was always friends with Pettigrew, but I must warn you against using him! I mean, if the Death Eaters ever guessed and got hold of him, he wouldn't stand up to their torture for a minute! He's not like you and James…or even Sirius. He's never exactly had the heart of a lion. Now if you let me do it…"

"No, no, we've already discussed this! We don't want to burden you with one more thing. Peter will be fine, we believe he's going into hiding himself in a few days, and then there will be no possible way for You Know Who to ever find us."

"Very well then," said Dumbledore, still looking slightly apprehensive. "You must send me a note every week to let me know how you're doing. If I don't hear from you'll I'll assume that something's gone wrong. If you're sure you're fine, though, I must be back at headquarters, I have a very important report coming in in about an hour." He turned away and was readying himself to disapparate when Lily spoke.

"Wait! Albus! Just one more thing. Who was it that gave you the tip off about us? As far as I knew, the Order hadn't yet managed to plant anyone within the ranks of the Death Eaters yet."

"I'm sorry, Lily, but I'm not at liberty to say. By confidant forbid me to say anything to you."

"But please Albus! If something goes wrong, I don't want to go to the grave not knowing who tried to save us!"

"Don't worry, nothing is going to happen. Like you said yourself, there's no possible way Voldemort will be able to find you."

"Albus!" There was a note of absolute desperation in her voice now. Dumbledore could tell that she wanted to know his informant more than she had wanted anything ever before.

"Very well, but you must swear to me to never tell anyone. Especially James or my spy himself. Both would die if they knew." Lily was looking at him with wide eyes now. "Before I tell you, I must assure you that this man is now firmly on our side, and turned spy against Voldemort at great personal peril all because of a childhood love that he has never been able to spurn."

"Dumbledore, we don't have much time…any minute now…."

"Very well. It was Severus Snape who told me of Voldemort's intentions towards you, James, and Harry. He was the one who told his master of the prophecy, not knowing who Voldemort would target. He is mad with grief that he has put you in danger and wishes only to make sure his mistake does not result in your harm."

As he said this, he saw the color drain out of Lily's face. "Sev? Severus told you this? But I thought he was lost… I never would have believed….are you sure he's on our side? He was always a great occlumens."

"Quite sure. There's no person on earth who could possibly fake the remorse that he showed me."

"Oh God," said Lily, her eyes starting to shine with the beginnings of tears. "I never forgave him for calling me 'mudblood'. I knew he didn't mean it, but I was young and didn't want to listen to his apologies…"

"Don't worry, that is all forgotten now. School grudges fall away when faced with real world peril."

"Albus, you must promise me something." Lily's voice was suddenly stern and steady. "Promise me that if, for some reason, something happens to James and I, and Harry survives, that he knows Severus. I know that my sister will never so much as tell Harry about our world, and I don't want him to grow up like that. Please, as what may be a last request, promise me that Harry will at least spend time with Severus. After all, he was the man who, as a boy, first taught me about magic. He is the only one I can trust for this, not even Sirius or Pettigrew…" she trailed off.

"This is a rather odd request, Lily, but I understand where you are coming from. But as I doubt anything will happen to you, I won't breathe a word of it to Severus unless the situation arises." Lily looked rather relieved, and gave him a small smile. "Now I must be away, and you must get into your house. I see that James has finished and, ah! there's Peter right now. I wish you the best of luck and hope to see you when the danger has cleared. Goodnight, Lily." He got a last glimpse of Lily's hopeful face as he spun on his heel and disappeared into the fading sunlight.


	2. From Privet Drive to Spinner's End

Harry Potter of number four Privet Drive was a rather subdued child for a boy of only eight. While his peers spent their recess time either playing tag of trading cards in the shade of the large elm tree, Harry sat rocking back and forth on the otherwise empty swing set on the deserted edge of the schoolyard. Nobody ever seemed to want to play with the awkward boy with the messy black hair and massively baggy clothes, so this swing set was typically where Harry spent his free time at school.

It was a hot day at the beginning of June, and the very last school day of the year. Harry's feelings were rather mixed about this fact because while he would be able to escape the curious stares of his classmates for a full three months, it would be even more difficult to avoid his cousin Dudley.

Dudley, a portly boy with thick blonde hair and a reddish complexion, never passed by a chance to hassle Harry with his gang of cronies. This day on the schoolyard was no exception. Harry saw from across the lawn that Dudley had spotted him sitting alone. He thought about running (he was very quick after all), but he didn't feel like risking getting into trouble like he had when he had run from Dudley last week.

It was actually a rather strange tale. Dudley and his gang had been pursuing Harry around the back of the school kitchens last Monday at recess as usual when the most unusual thing happened. Harry had just leapt up into the air in order to clear a row of rubbish bins when he felt a rather strange sensation like he was being squeezed through a tube. He blacked out for a second, and when he could see again, Harry found himself not by the rubbish bins, but rather on the school roof.

The teachers had been livid with him for climbing buildings, but their anger was nothing compared to Uncle Vernon's

"Hey, Potty," yelled Dudley as he strutted up to Harry, flanked by Piers Polkiss, Stanley, Shruder, and Micheal Porlock. "What 'choo cryin' about today? Nobody want to talk to the underfed rat?"

"Better the underfed rat than the overstuffed pig, I suppose, " Harry retorted.

"What was that? What did you say?" Dudley shouted at him, completely aware of what Harry had said.

"Sorry, I meant overstuffed, _deaf,_ pig"

Harry felt his glasses smash before he had time to put up his arms to defend himself. The punch to his left eye had taken him by such surprise that he fell backwards off the swing and landed with a crunch on the gravel below.

"Come on," Harry heard Dudley say, "Let's go before the teachers see us." He heard them crunching back through the gravel but kept his eyes shut because of the pain.

Dudley had hit him so hard that he was sure the indentation was still visible. His face was burning hot, half from his injury, half because of the humiliation of being caught so off guard.

Harry sat up and blinked. Small beads of blood were clinging to the tips of his eyelashes. He took off the cracked remnants of his black rimmed glasses and wiped the blood off with the back of his hand. He set his spectacles back on his nose, but the spidery lines criss crossing the left eyes and the way they dangled from one ear told Harry they were next to useless.

He pulled himself up from the ground just as the bell to return to class rang out from the school-building. Harry sighted resignedly and made his way quickly across the grass to he wouldn't get in even more trouble fro being late.

That night back at the Dursley household was just as Harry had expected it to be. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were chatting animatedly about Uncle Vernon's work, the goings on of Mrs. Next Door, and Dudley's perfect day at school. Neither his aunt nor uncle had bothered to ask Harry how he had received his massive black eye, or why his glasses were being held together with liberal amounts of scotch tape, and neither Harry nor Dudley seemed eager to tell them.

Harry had just finished up his own meager meal and was about to excuse himself from the table when Uncle Vernon wiped his mouth clean with an enormous hankercheif and spocke from beneath his giant moustache.

"Boy," he grunted in Harry's direction, "Have you talked to Mrs. Figg yet about doing her gardening? I won't have you running around the neighborhood all summer like some delinquent."

Uncle Vernon hadn't said one cruel thing to him all day, and Harry wanted to keep it that way. "Yes, sir. I talked to her uesterday. She says I can come every day from noon to four."

"Perfect, we don't even have to feed you lunch, then. Are you going to start tomorrow?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good, you can go now."

Harry picked up his plate and placed it in the sink before exiting the kitchen into the hallway. He was just pulling the latch on his cupboard when he heard a knock on the front door.

He didn't know they were expectiong company, and neither, apparently, was Uncle Vernon. Harry heard his uncle's muffled "Who the bloody hell is that?" issue from the kitchen.

Thinking it rude to leave the visitor on the front porch until Uncle Vernon made it all the way to the door (which would surely be a long time due to the man's girth), Harry went to open the door himself.

At first, Harry couldn't see anyone standing on the porch, as all the street lamps had gone out, but as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out the figure of an old, bearded, silver haired man dressed in the most peculiar purple robes. Harry had never seen the man before, and was wondering why such an odd stranger had come to their house at such an odd hour when he asked, "Excuse me sir, who are you?"

The old man had just opened his mouth to respond when he was preempted by a shout that issued from pehind Harry.

"NO!" Uncle Vernon screamed, his face purple with rage. "You will leave our premises immediately!"

"Excuse me," said the old man politely, betraying only the smallest hint of a smile. "I do not believe I've introduced myself. My name is..."

But he was cut off by Uncle Vernon. "I know ruddy well who you are, and I want to gone! Now!" He waddled forward as fast as he could and meant to slam the door, but for some reason it wouldn't budge. He kept pushing it with all his might, but it seemed as though the door had been cemented to the ground.

The old man smiled calmly, his pale blue eyes twinkling from behind his half-moon spectacles. "I expect you got my letter then," he said simply to Uncle Vernon. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, yes, I got your letter, "Uncle Vernon spat, still panting from the effort of exerting himself. "That awful bird woke me up! But he's not going! I won't let him! He's going to be working his summer at Mrs. Figg's and that's the end of it!" He tried once more to budge the door, but again, no luck.

"I'm sorry, but that decision really isn't in your hands. It was his mother's last wish before she died that Harry spend his summers in our world as he got older, and I'm certainly not about to break my word to her." He turned to Harry, who was gaping at him in disbelief; "Harry, go and pack a trunk, You're going away for the summer, be back just before your school starts up again."

This news schockd Harry, his dreams were coming true. He wouldn't see the Dursley's for a full three months! However, he wasn't schocked enough to not run for his cupboard and gather up his belongings, all of which fit easily into his well worn pillowcase. His uncle was still yelling at the old man when Harry returned to the front door, but fell silent when he saw the boy.

Uncle Vernon turned to Harry, beads of sweat were forming around his brow and his voice was almost pleading now. "you don't want to go with him, do you Harry? I mean, don't you want to stay here with your friends all summer?"

Harry glared at him, "What friends? You always made sure I didn't have any of those." He turned his back on Uncle Vernon and strode out of the open door to stand next to the old man. He had no idea who the man was, but Harry had an odd feeling like he could trust him that he couldn't explain.

"Very well then,: said the stranger cheerfully. "That's settled. Harry will return to you on the last day in August. Good evening to you!" The door shut immediately as if slammed by an invisible hand into the shocked faces of Harry's aunt and uncle. Suddenly, all was quiet.

The street lamps were still dark as Harry made his way down to the street at the side of the old man. There was no car parked on the curb, and Harry couldn't understand how they were going to get wherever they were going.

"Sir?" he inquired. "Excuse me, but who are you and how are we getting…"

"Hold on one minute, Harry and I'll explain everything…or at least as much as I can." He stuck his hand into the pocket of his plum robes and pulled out a very long, gnarled stick that looked centuries old. He held it out in front of him like a sword, and Harry was just going to ask him what he was doing when there a loud 'bang!' and a violently purple bus appeared as if out of thin air. Harry reasoned that he simply hadn't see it turn the corner.

A young man stepped from the door and started to speak; "Welcome to the Knight Bus…hey!" He seemed to recognize Harry's companion. "Mr. Dumbledore, sir! I didn't see you at first! What a surprise! Come aboard, come aboard!" He grabbed Harry's pillowcase and disappeared back onto the bus.

"Follow me, Harry," said Dumbledore, and followed Harry up the steps to the Knight Bus. When he could see properly into the bus' interior, Harry stopped and gasped. Nearly a dozen beds stood where the seats should have been, each adorned with silver bed curtains.

"Come along, Harry, we must get going." Harry regained his senses ad moved to the bed nearest the driver's seat where the young man had placed his pillowcase.

"Where are we off to today, sir?" the conductor asked Dumbledore.

"Spinner's End, in Hertfordshire. And it would be wonderful if we could be there as fast as possible. We're already a bit late." Indicating Harry.

"You're our only customers tonight, so we'll be there as fast as possible." He turned to the driver. "You heard 'em, Ern! Let's go!" With another loud band the bus jumped and Harry was flung across the bed, just managing to catch himself before he fell to the floor. Dumbledore had somehow managed to stay on his feet, and was looking as though he hadn't even felt the bus fly forward.

When Harry regained his balance on the end of the bed, he turned to the old man and asked, "Dumbledore?"

He peered at Harry over the tops of his glasses. "Sorry I didn't get to make a proper introduction earlier, but we really had to be off. WE're expected any moment now. My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I'm the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where you will be studying in about three year's time."

"Witchcraft and Wizardry? What are you talking about?" Harry was very confused now, but his mind was racing, hoping desperately that this was no hoax.

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, bending close to him. "You are the youngest in a long line of men and women with magical powers. I'm sure you've experienced pieces of this power when you were scared or angry." He raised an eyebrow and Harry connected the dots. The odd behavior of his hair when Aunt Petunia cut it into that humiliating stule, his mysterious reappearance on the roof of the school building when Dudley and his gang were chasing him last week; it all made sense if what Dumbledore said was true.

Dumbledore continued, "Both your mother and father were students at Hogwarts, and both were extremely talented. I can't say much more, since our journey is nearly at an end, but the man you'll be staying with will explain everything….eventually. You'll just have to ask." The bus came to an abrupt stop with another 'bang!' and the conductor announced that they had indeed already arrived at Spinner's End. "Ah! We're here! Come along, Harry! No time to waste!"

He stepped off the bus with the bounce of a much younger man. Harry followed him cautiously after throwing his pillowcase over his shoulder. As he stepped off the last stair another 'bang!' issued from right behind him and the Knight Bus was gone.

Harry looked around, trying to get a sense of where he was, although it was somewhat difficult in the darkness. The houses here were shabby and crooked. The lawns would have thrown Aunt Petunia into a panic attack as they were wildly overgrown and untended. There was almost a tangible sense of poverty about the place. Harry felt slightly war, and wondered where Dumbledore was taking him.

On up ahead, Dumbledore was passing through a grimy, formerly white picket gate leading up to a house that Harry would have taken for vacant except for a single shining light in a downstairs window. Harry could see a shadow moving within, but couldn't quite make out a definite figure. He hurried to catch up with Dumbledore, and stood slightly behind him and just out of sight as the older man rapped once on the door. They had stood there in the darkness for only a few seconds when the faded painted door cracked and a band of light streamed out.

"It's me, Severus. I've got the boy."

"Come in, then," said the man called Severus in what Harry though was a rather low, intimidating voice as he opened up the door so that Harry could see his face properly now. He had a rather thing face with sallow, chiseled features and a fairly large, menacing looking hooked nose. His hair feel in lank curtains around his face His eyes, which were fixed on Dumbledore, were cold and black, although Harry could detect a certain sensitivity to them he could not name nor explain.

"Sorry, Severus, but I have business to attend to with the minister. I'll just leave Harry here with you." He quickly turned around, bent his head down to Harry's level, and said in a quiet voice, "If you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to send me an owl." He straightened up and said in normal tones, "Goodnight, and goodbye. I'll see you both soon I suppose." He turned on his heel and vanished with a small pop.

Harry stared at the spot where Dumbledore had just been, still nowhere near used to the wonders of magic. He spun on the spot to see if the old man had reappeared somewhere else on the street, but saw nothing but the other houses in the murky darkness. It was only then that Harry became aware of the fact that the man named Severus was staring at him with his dark, penetrating gaze. He turned abruptly, and for a moment, when Harry's green eyes met the black, he detected a start of surprise. But as soon as he blinked, the man's stare had reconstructed itself so quickly that Harry thought he might have imagined it.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Harry Potter. You look just like your father." Not even inviting Harry in, he turned his back on the boy and strode back into his house, leaving the door open behind him. Harry figure this to be invitation enough and stepped over the threshold into a house the like of which he had never seen before.

The first room he came to was a sitting room with an old sofa and chair set in the middle. Almost every square inch of the walls was covered in books, and at first Harry couldn't see where the man had gone. However, as soon as he thought this, a secret door opened in the bookshelf across from him and the man strode out holding a stick in his hand similar to the one Dumbledore had carried, though this one was obviously much newer.

"My name is Severus Snape, and I also teach at Hogwarts with Professor Dumbledore. You may simply call me Snape for the time being, but when you come to school I will expect you to address me as 'professor'. It's getting quite late and I'm not in the mood to be answering you're undoubtedly never-ending pool of questions tonight, so I need you to go straight to bed. It's straight up the stairs through that bookcase there," he pointed to Harry's right. "Just pull on the right edge of the bookcase and it'll open."

He was turning to go back through the first hidden door when he stopped short, as though just remembering something and said, "Just keep in mind that I'm only doing this on Dumbledore's orders. If you expect me to embrace you like a son, you're as vain as you're father was." He shut the door with a smack behind him.

Harry stood there, rather dumbstruck in the middle of Snape's living room. As far as he could tell, he hadn't done anything to offend the man, but it was obvious that he was already disliked. As soon as he broke his reverie, Harry headed towards the section of the bookcase Snape had indicated and found that it swung open easily to reveal a narrow set of steep stone steps lit by a set of torches with bright green flames.

When Harry reached the landing he found a small, shabby, but relatively comfortable room to what he had been expecting. The walls where covered with wallpaper that was peeling in places and looked as though it had been there for at least a century. A small closet was stuck in the far corner, and a decent sized window gave Harry a good view of the street. Another door showed Harry a cramped, stone bathroom next to the wardrobe. There were a few spare trunks strewn across the room with all sorts of funny instruments falling out of them. Some were stained and deformed in such gruesome ways that Harry was scared to think about what must have been spilled on them.

There was a heavy wooden chest of drawers sitting next to the bed, and Harry emptied the feeble contents of his pillowcase into it before falling onto the bed. Considering he had always lived in the cupboard under the stairs back at the Dursley's, Harry had never enjoyed to much room to himself.

However, for the first time since leaving the Dursley's, disappointment was nagging his brain. Dumbledore had raised his hopes that he was going to be living at some wonderful, magical manor. But as far as he could tell, he had somehow ended up at what seemed like an extremely odd, but thoroughly non-magical house on a rather ordinary street with a man who seemed to despise him even more than the Dursleys. The worst part was that he had no idea why Snape disliked him so much, or, more importantly, what he could do to reverse this.

What Harry could never have imagined, however, was at that very moment a floor below him, Severus Snape was even more conflicted than he was.

From the moment Dumbledore had told him about Lily's last wishes nearly seven years ago, Snape had dreaded this day. Of course he would never have thought of crossing Lily's desires, and wished to do all he could to protect her only child, but he couldn't bear the idea of letting a boy by the name of Potter into his house.

The boy, he figured, would be just like his father, especially growing up knowing that he was famous in some world he had never entered. A strutter, no doubt. Someone whose head would have to be deflated greatly. Snape had been prepared to hate the boy the moment he saw him.

However, something was wrong. No matter what Snape had told himself, the boy was far from being vain. In fact, it seemed as though those muggle relatives of his hadn't even bothered to tell him he was a wizard, much less that an entire society of people knew his name. Despite himself, Snape had felt a twinge of pity for the Potter boy when he saw him. Harry reminded him of himself with the poorly fitting clothes, his malnourished look, and his overall air of being neglected and uncared for.

And the boy's eye! Blacked and cut with his glasses still broken in several places and held together by scotch tape! Those glasses that his father had sported with style and pretension looked sad and pitiful on the son. He would have to repair them and the boy's injuries in the morning. He didn't want any excuse to feel pity for the boy he had vowed to loathe.

But as Snape cleared up the potions he had been experimenting with and began to brew a mix to clear up minor cuts and bruises, he couldn't get rid of the growing understanding he felt for the boy's situation. However, it only made him hate Harry more for being able to evoke all the raw feelings Snape had been able to hold at bay for so long.

As he turned in to bed that night, Snape's dreams were filled with those almond shaped green eyes that had been sprung upon him again so unexpectedly.


	3. A Question of Avoidance

The next day dawned bright and early for Harry. He was so used to Aunt Petunia rapping on his door at an indecent hour that his internal alarm clock never allowed him to wake too late. He dressed himself in another set of baggy clothes and put on his broken glasses before heading down the narrow stone staircase. He didn't think Snape would be up yet, and was glad of the opportunity to poke around his new surroundings without the scathing black eyes burning into the back of his head.

As he swung out the secret door in the bookcases and stepped into the sitting room, Harry got a clear look of the place in the dawning sunlight. Although he really wasn't much of a bookworm, as he studied the titles of the hundreds of books on the walls, he couldn't help but pull them from their places and flip through them with interest.

The first one he saw was called 'Antidotes for the Hopelessly Dull'. Harry chuckled slightly and stared at the complicated lists and instructions on every page. The title was clearly a misnomer. As he went around the walls he found several other amusing titles including 'The Hag's Guide to Love Potions', and 'Tonics for Those Who Don't Wish to Die."

Harry could have spent hours going through these books that asked for all sorts of ridiculous ingredients like frog toenails, and dragon whiskers, but decided he needed to acquaint himself with the rest of the house too. There would be plenty of time for reading in the next few months.

He crossed the room and felt the bookshelf cautiously where he'd seen Snape emerge the night before. It didn't take much time to find the exact place, and just like with his own door, this one swung forward easily and noiselessly. Harry peered around the corner before he stepped into the room, hoping he was not intruding on Snape nor on any personal space. To his relief, the room beyond the bookcase seemed to be a sort of kitchen, although, like the rest of the house, it was completely unlike any he had seen before. Unlike the Dursley's kitchen which was comprised almost completely of sterile white surfaces and shiny new appliances, this one was decidedly grimy as if rarely used, and, as far as Harry could tell, had only an oven and stove for appliances.

It was then that Harry noticed movement in the sink. At first he though it must be a rat (what else would be scurrying around the kitchen?), but as he got closer, he saw the first real sparks of true magic so far in the house. The dishes were stacked in one section of the sink, but as Harry watched, they lifted themselves up one by one into midair as another unsupported sponge scrubbed them clean.

Harry was mesmerized. Surely he was imagining this, it was simply to marvelous to be real! But no, he stuck his hand out to touch the sponge and skillet, and they were both quite real. He grinned to himself; even if Snape wasn't nice, this was surely better than weeding Mrs. Figg's garden for the rest of the summer.

He turned his back on the dishes cleaning themselves and saw an open door to his left. Forgetting the caution he had used to come into the kitchen, Harry pushed this door completely ajar with confidence. It was pitch black, but as soon as Harry stepped in, torches lining the walls sprang to life with the same green flames as had lit his way up the staircase to his bedroom the night before.

At first, Harry thought he was looking at a store room for the kitchen as he saw half a dozen large pots on the countertop lining two of the walls. But as he stepped closer, he saw that several of them were bubbling with different substances. i These aren't pots, /i thought Harry. i These are cauldrons! /i He tried to get a better look at the potions bubbling and got up on his tip toes.

The first of the cauldrons held a thick orange paste where an occasional air bubble would rise to the surface and pop, sending small flecks of the paste flying everywhere. The second was an acid green gel- liquid that looked the slime that he Harry seen so many people dumped in on Dudley's television. Excited, he extended his fingers towards the colorful surface when he was stopped by a cold voice behind him.

"Do not touch that, Potter. Unless of course you wish for all the blood in your body to turn to ice. Trust me, it's a gruesomely painful experience."

Harry whipped around, dread flooding his body. There stood Snape, framed in the doorway in midnight black robes and his hands on his hips. There was a look in his face of cold fury. "I…I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to do anything wrong. The door was ajar, you see…"

"Get out of here Potter, I never want to see you in here again without my permission. God that?" Snape's voice was slow and punctuated, his tone quiet and threatening. It scared Harry far more than if Snape had shouted at him.

"Y-Yes sir, never." Snape seemed to Harry like the kind of man whom one never wished to cross. Harry bent his head low and kept his eyes on the ground as he ducked around Snape and out of the potions room and into the kitchen with as much haste as he could muster. Behind him he heard Snape slam the door, and when Harry looked back, he saw that Snape had shut himself inside the room.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief and allowed his heart rate to return to normal before turning around to face the kitchen. To his surprise, on the shabby table in the corner of the room, a fully cooked breakfast of eggs, sausage, and bacon was sitting there steaming. Harry couldn't remember there being anything cooking when he had been in the kitchen, but wasn't finding anything too surprising anymore.

For a minute Harry wondered if he should touch it. Maybe Snape had been meaning to eat it before he caught him trying to touch the potions. But his fears were allayed when he saw a note sitting by a small tub of the same orange paste he had seen bubbling in the first cauldron in the other room. The tub was sitting right next to the plate and seemed to be addressed to him, so he took it to mean that the meal was his also. He sat down and started to read:

i Smear a thick layer of this onto your bruised eye and let sit for thirty minutes. Then wash off with soap and water. /i 

Harry looked at the nasty paste and made a face of revulsion. "Ugh!" did he really have to? But he weighed his options and decided that if the concoction would help clear up his black eye, it would be worth it.

He laid his glasses to the side and, with deliberation, spread the bruise remover over the entirety of his blackened eye like he was smearing a particularly thick cream cheese over a bagel. He washed his hands in the sink to get the residue off of them and was just about to begin working on his breakfast when he heard the snap of the door behind him.

Snape swept into the room, and Harry could see him smirking slightly as he caught sight of his ridiculously orange face. He passed right by the table, robes softly whipping the corners and Harry felt the color rise in the parts of his face not covered. As he went, Harry saw the blurred outline of the stick he was carrying the night before poking out of the sleeve of his robes. Harry swore he saw him give it a minute wave, but couldn't be sure because his glasses were still laying on the edge of the table. But, as nothing happened, Harry assumed that Snape must not have meant anything by it.

Harry finished breakfast alone, putting his used plate in the queue to be washed and headed back up to his bathroom to scrub off the once orange goop that had now turned a congealed reddish brown color and was giving off the smell of well-worn sneakers.

This task took more effort and time than Harry had first imagined. It seemed to have attached to his face and was resisting the copious amounts of soapy water being thrown at it. Finally, getting a bit desperate and wondering if Snape had simply given him the wrong instructions so as to get a cruel laugh at his expense, Harry took the entire bar of soap and started scrubbing his eye with it. After only a few moments the hardened mass came off almost in one piece, and Harry was left to look at his newly mended face. Other than the flushed redness in his cheeks from the effort he had just expended, his eye looked completely normal again.

"Wow, I'm really going to have to get myself some of that!" Harry murmured to his reflection. "Dudley will be so confused!"

To get a better look at the potion's effects, Harry picked up his glasses and placed them on his nose. But they weren't the same glasses he had taken off before breakfast. Yes, they were the same black rims, and fit the exact same way, but these spectacles were mended completely. There were no more spidery cracks webbing the left eye glass, and the scotch tape was gone from the sides to reveal that they were good as new.

Harry goggled at them. His glasses had never been this good, not even when the Dursleys had first given them to him. He remembered vaguely that they said they had pulled them out of a box full of Uncle Vernon's late uncle's things. They were scuffed and bent, but Harry had no choice but to take them, as he couldn't see well otherwise.

A small smile started to curve the edges of Harry's lips. He though he knew exactly why Snape had so discreetly waved his wand while passing by the breakfast table this morning.

Taking the steps two at a time, completely forgetting that he'd intruded on a private room of his caretaker, Harry ran down from his bedroom excitedly, hoping to thank Snape for his help.

"Mr. Snape?" he called to the empty sitting room. Nothing moved or even gave so much as an acknowledgment that Harry had said anything. "Mr. Snape?" This time his voice was a bit lower. He didn't want to get into trouble for shouting in the house, as he rightfully suspected Snape to be the kind of soul that valued silence.

He said the name once more, but still nobody answered. Snape appeared to not have heard him, or could, but was just ignoring him. Harry sat down on the couch, a little put out that he couldn't thank the man for his kindness, but felt sure that he could talk to him at lunch or dinner.

But that opportunity never came, as Harry didn't even glimpse Snape for the rest of the day. Nor did he see him for several days to come. Harry found this highly disconcerting, and was wondering if the man ate at all. He had just started to doubt that Snape was still in the house at all, and wondered if hi might have just left him by himself without telling him.

However, Harry discarded this notion very quickly, as there was always a meal sitting on the table, freshly prepared whenever he went down. In fact, despite the fact that he was being completely neglected by his host, Harry was content because he had never eaten so well in his life. Compared to the very sparse meals he received from the Dursleys, each meal he got at Spinner's End seemed a feast. He felt himself gain a bit of weight, and had to tell himself that he better watch his portions of him might end up looking like his corpulent cousin.

The first glimpse Harry caught of the other man in the house came out of complete, blind luck. One night, Harry was restless and couldn't stay asleep for more than twenty minutes before waking up to a flash of bright, green light.

He sat up and shivered; he'd had that dream many times before. His wristwatch blinked 2:15 am in florescent, yellow light. Knowing that he wouldn't be able to go to sleep any time soon, Harry dropped his feet to the cold, stone floor and got up to go downstairs. He needed something to drink, and while he had never seen where the drinks or food was stored, he was sure tha he could find a glass to fill with water.

He had already swung open his secret door behind the bookcase when he realized that the door to the kitchen was ajar and a light was shining through. Harry heard the clatter of pots and pans, and made sure to make no noise as he crossed the sitting room and peered in.

There was Snape, dressed in what Harry now knew to be his customary black robes and fixing himself a meal using the stick Harry now figured to be a magic wand to heat the food and add ingredients.

Harry watched him with interest. Snape looked somehow different than he had when Harry had seen him last, although he couldn't quite put his finger on how. Snape's thin eyebrows were still pinched as though trying to intimidate the frying pan in his hand, but somehow his eyes seemed less frightening, There were great dark rings around them like Snape hadn't slept for days. His entire face, on the whole, seemed a shade whiter.

Harry supposed it was his mouth, however, that was making the greatest difference. When Harry had last seen Snape, the man's mouth had been curled into a tight-lipped sneer that screamed arrogance and disapproval. It was that sneer that had taunted Harry and irked him most of all. But as Harry looked at Snape now, his mouth was slack, with only the tiniest hint of a frown on it. It made him look slightly tortured and defeated, as though he had spent the last few days in prison.

It was plainly apparent to Harry that this was one persona that Snape did not often put on public display, something that made him feel guilty for intruding upon a clearly private moment.

He backed away slowly, not wanting to get caught any more than he wanted to get punched in the face by Dudley. He hurried back up to his room and tucked the covers hard up around him. Although he had originally gone downstairs to clear his head, Harry found that it was even more clouded than before, and it was a long time before Harry was once again able to enter a fitful, nightmarish doze.

In the morning, he awoke much later than he was accustomed, and by the time he got downstairs, his breakfast was stone cold. Using his fork to toy with the unappetizing lump of stale eggs on his plate, Harry though, i I've got to talk to him. I'm not going to spend the rest of my vacation like this! /i 

But, as with most everything else, this was much more easily said than done. For the rest of the day, Harry scrupulously planned how he was going to approach Snape and what he was going to question him about. Dumbledore i had /i said that Snape had all the answers right? All he had to do was ask.

Tonight. He would approach him tonight. He would wait in the sitting room until he heard a shuffling in the kitchen. Then he would make his move, acting as though he was looking for a glass of water. Snape might not be happy with him, but he'd at least be cornered.

At around ten that night, after washing up and putting on his pajamas, Harry took his stakeout place on the couch facing away from this kitchen's hidden door. He took up one of the books laying on the coffee table in front of him, but his eyes merely traced over the words without picking up the meaning. He was nervous. Very nervous. What if Snape scolded him again? What if he sent him back to the Dursleys? The scolding, Harry reasoned, he could take, but for no reason did he really want to risk being returned to number four, Privet Drive.

For all his preparation, Harry didn't have to wait more than an hour before he heard a door shut and a shuffling in the room behind him.

Harry gave Snape around five minutes to himself before rising slowly from his very comfortable seat. Harry's heart was pounding hard in his chest now so that it was difficult to keep his breathing even. He knew he was going to have to do this quickly before his nerves gave out, kind of like jumping into a cold swimming pool. Without so much as glancing into the room beforehand, he pulled open the secret door and stepped over the threshold. But there he stopped, stock still.

Snape had clearly been fixing himself a small meal, but at the sound of Harry's footsteps, he spun around to face the door. "Potter," he said with a slight sneer. "What's a child like you doing up so late? You should be in bed."

"I…I couldn't sleep. I n-needed a glass of water." Harry stuttered. He was losing his nerve after all under Snape's withering stare.

"Liar," he said softly and slowly, enunciating clearly. "You wanted to ask me something." Harry goggled at him, unable to fathom how Snape had apparently just read his mind. "You'll find," the man continued, his sneer becoming more pronounced, "that it is very difficult to lie to me."

"Uh, yeah, I did," said Harry, trying to recover from the unpleasant realization that his thoughts were not private. But his voice became stronger with resolution as he asked, "I…I was just wondering if you knew my parents." He raised his green eyes to Snape's in hopeful expectation.

Snape's sneer wavered for just a moment, but didn't falter. He broke eye contact, looking up slightly, apparently examining Harry's unkempt hair. When he spoke, his tones were careful and measured. "Of course. We were in the same year together at school. Although I have to say," his eyes narrowed maliciously, "that I would have been much better off not knowing your father. He was perhaps the most arrogant, useless human being I have ever had the misfortune to meet."

"Don't talk about my father that way!" Harry cried out in anguish. He'd never been able to discuss his parents with anybody, and didn't want his mental image of them to be tainted by the sullied accounts of a bitter man.

"I will talk about your father any way I wish to," Snape shot back. "If you don't want to hear my opinions, don't ask. Now go back to bed, I don't feel like answering any more of your questions tonight." He strode across the kitchen, leaving his steaming pot untended, and grabbed Harry roughly by the wrist and forcing him out of the doorway.

"Ow! Sir! Please! Ow! Just tell me about the car crash, okay?" Harry pleaded as he tried with all his might to resist the older man. But to his surprise, Snape suddenly stopped and look down at him with wide black eyes, instigating eye contact for the first time since they met.

"What?" he said sharply. "What car crash?"

"You know, the one that killed my parents. The one where I got this scar." He pointed to his forehead with his free hand, still panting from the tussle.

For the first time in his presence, Harry felt he saw Snape's expression soften, but only slightly. "You think your parents died in a car crash?" His voice was so quiet that Harry could hardly hear him. "Bloody hell, Dumbledore said I might have to explain some things, but he never said anything about his." He was speaking through gritted teeth, and his voice seemed to get angrier with every word.

Harry was now very confused. Confused enough to not be frightened by a very peeved Snape only inches from his face. "You…you mean they didn't?" 

Snape looked away from him and roughly let go of his arm. "You better sit down the, Potter," pulling out a chair from the table, looking frustrated and a bit frazzled. "You'll have to learn eventually, and though I am sure I am not this one to tell you, I don't suppose anyone else is."

Harry sat in the proffered chair and watched as Snape took the seat opposite him.

Snape drummed his fingers on the table and took a deep breath, making sure to look anywhere but at the boy's face. "Many years ago, there was a powerful wizard who went dark. His name," Snape rubbed his left forearm unconsciously, "was Lord Voldemort…"


	4. The First Glimpse of the truth

**Hey, thank you all for reviewing, it means a ton to me! Sorry it took me so long to get out this chapter, but with college apps due in a month I don't have much time. I promise that it won't be too long before my posting times are more regular :( As always, please read and review!**

**Oh, and someone pointed out that my html italics and such weren't working. Sorry about that, and I'm trying to fix the problem, I just can't find just where it's at yet :(**

"The Dark Lord, or You-Know-Who, as he is often referred to, decided that wizard kind needed to go through a sort of 'purification' As you'll no doubt find when you go to school, there are certain families who wish to keep magical learning within all-magic families, or purebloods. They look down on witches and wizards born from muggle families, who are called 'mudbloods' by the prejudiced in uncivilized circles." Snape fairly spat the word 'mudblood' as though it gave him a rotten taste. "The Dark Lord was one of these wizards. But he took this hatred to the next level, killing muggle-born magic folk, muggles, and all those who stood in his way."

"Wait, said Harry suddenly. Snape glared at him for interrupting. "What's a muggle?"

"Ah," he said delicately, his mouth once again turning up into a faint sneer, "I forgot just how ignorant you are of the magical world for a second there. Muggles are people with no magical powers like your aunt and uncle. Anyway, The Dark Lord was killing many, many people with the help of a loyal group of followers know as the Death Eaters." Harry noticed as he rubbed his left forearm again unconsciously. "Together, they sought to dominate the wizarding community and to establish a new world order with the Dark Lord at the helm. He was damn near doing it too when he encountered a rather large hitch in his plan.

"See, your parents didn't die in a car crash, they were murdered by the Dark Lord. But the hitch in his plan was that when he turned his wand on you, for some reason he couldn't kill you." Harry sat in shock, hardly able to soak in all this new information at once. "Rather," Snape continued, "the curse rebounded upon the Dark Lord, vanquishing him until he is strong enough to return."

Harry couldn't speak, and so simply stared at Snape, looking as though he was trying to find a flaw in his story. Snape, for his part was still trying to figure out how much to tell the boy. He made a quick decision to not inform Harry that he was famous. He'd learn that soon enough.

"Me? He tried to kill me? But why? My parents weren't moggles, I mean muggles," Harry said, horrified.

Snape shifted slightly uncomfortably in his seat, a movement that went unnoticed by a still stricken Harry. Choosing his words carefully, the man said, "Only a chosen few could tell us that." Harry looked as though he was going to ask just who those people were, but Snape headed him off in a voice that put an end to any protest Harry might have had. "We'll talk more tomorrow. Now go to bed."

Harry looked at him with disappointment etched in every feature of his face. "Yes, sir," he said resignedly as he got up from his seat and headed towards the doorway to the sitting room. But just before he got there he stopped and turned to face his host. "Thanks a ton for fixing my eye and glasses," he said quickly, but with meaning. Then he was gone.

Snape still sat in his seat at the breakfast table, looking at the spot where the boy had just exited and massaging his left forearm with increased vigor. There was no way he was going to tell that young boy with the face of his old rival why the Dark Lord chose him as a target. At least not yet, he supposed Potter would find out eventually. And when he did, he would hate Snape with all his being. Snape was not worried about that, in fact his feelings on the subject were quite the contrary. If the boy hated him, perhaps they'd never have to stay in the same house again…happy thought indeed.

He got up and scooped his now cooked meal onto a plate and ate with haste before turning into bed. He may resent the boy magnificently, but he had to give him answers. The boy was stubborn, _just like his father_, and the sooner Snape talked, the sooner Potter would leave him alone.

As Snape climbed under the musty sheets in his well-worn bed, his mind was, for was seemed like the millionth time since the boy had entered the house, filled with the image of two bright, green, curious eyes.

The next morning, when Harry went down for breakfast he was not greeted with the normal sight of his plate sitting on the table of an empty room. Rather, Snape was already sitting there, eyes rapidly taking in a rather curious newspaper. As he got close he saw that everyone in the pictures was moving; some were smiling and waving up at him, one was giving a powerful political speech, and there was even one woman crying in agony.

"They move!" Harry blurted out before he found his composure and realized he was in the magical world.

"Groundbreaking observation, Potter, Very good," Snape drawled. "Yes, they move." He pulled his newspaper up and shook it out so that Harry could no longer see his face.

Harry sat down opposite him and started digging into a selection of poached eggs and ham. He couldn't help but stare at the back of the newspaper in front of him. The stories contained many words that Harry had never seen before: apparition, galleons, Azkaban, and floo being the first to catch his eye. The front page headline screamed out in continually scrolling letters, "Ministry Seeks Tighter Enforcement of Magical Travel Violations." Next to it was a man with a blurred face who was riding what looked like a magic carpet.

Harry knew from years of living with Uncle Vernon that a man didn't like to be disturbed while reading his paper, and he figured Snape might be even harsher in his rebuke, so he waited until the man laid down his paper momentarily before asking the question that was biting his tongue. There's a ministry? Of magic?" Harry blurted out.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Yes, although at times I wonder if we might be better off without one."

"What do they do at the ministry?" Harry asked, his excitement mounting.

"Nearly everything that keeps the magical world under control. Their most important job, however is upholding the Statute of Secrecy that keeps the muggle population of getting wind of our world. They do other things of course, but in my opinion it's all rather useless. Magic cannot really be contained if there's someone out there who truly wants to use it." Snap flipped his newspaper up again quite haughtily and Harry knew their conversations was over.

Harry cleared off his plate and headed back up the stairs to get dressed. He was getting supremely bored staying in the house with nobody to talk to , and decided that he would explore the neighborhood a bit.

When he was ready, Harry snuck back downstairs as quietly as he could and pushed open the front door slowly so as not to alert Snape to his movements. He wasn't sure if he was allowed out of the house and didn't like to think of what the consequences might be if he wasn't.

Back in his potions room, Snape hear one of his intruder alarms go off. Looking into the misty globe sitting on the counter behind him, he saw Potter's dark figure exiting the house. Although Snape was happy to have the place to himself for a few hours, he was not ignorant of the danger of allowing Harry Potter to roam the streets alone and unprotected so far away from his relatives' house. Dumbledore would never forgive him if something happened to precious Potter.

There was only one thing to do. He emptied one of his cauldrons in which one of his experiments had failed to produce the desired results and filled it with a flick of his wand with fresh, cool water. "Acto revelio, Harry James Potter," he muttered, making a complicated swishing movement over the surface of the water. Instantly an image appeared in the cauldron, a sort of bird's eye view of the dark-haired boy as he slipped beyond the picket fence and started down Spinner's End. Most witches and wizards had protective charms placed over themselves so that no person could spy on them so easily, but as Potter had just entered the magical world he would have no such armour.

Snape turned back to his current concoction, knowing his Actus Revelius spelled potion would alert him to any trouble his ward might get into.

Outside, Harry was trundling down the street taking in all he couldn't from his bedroom window, or didn't on the night he arrived on the Knight Bus. His impressions, however, didn't change. He still found the street shabby and slightly depressing. He wondered if any other magical people lived in the area. It didn't appear so, as he saw several inhabitants in their front yards completing tasks in a thoroughly non-magical way. Some of them stared as he went by, but most of them went back to their work after only a glance. He apparently fit in extremely well in his well-worn clothes.

"Hey!" he heard a voice all from somewhere to his left. Harry looked and saw a boy roughly his age squeezing out from behind two grossly overgrown bushes. He was wearing jeans there were rather too short and showed his dirty, striped, yellow socks underneath. His shirt, however, was overlarge and his hair looked as though it hadn't been combed for weeks. Cuts and scratches covered his face and arms. "What's your name? I never seen you 'round here before."

"Harry. Harry Potter," said Harry rather surprised. "Yours?"

"Nat Wallace," said the boy still looking inquisitively at Harry. "Did you jus' move here? I didn't know anyone'd moved into the neighborhood recently."

"Oh no, I'm just here for the summer. I'm staying just there," he said, pointing back to Snape's house.

Nat wrinkled his nose in apparent dislike. "You're staying with that Snape man, then?"

"You know him?" asked Harry, a bit amazed.

"Of course, everyone 'round here knows 'em. Well, not personally of course. He never comes out of his house, don't he?"

"Really?" Harry questioned, curious to hear an outsiders perspective of his temporary guardian. "I wouldn't know. I've only met him a couple weeks ago, and he doesn't talk to me much."

"Oh yeah," he boy continued, obviously eager to talk on this subject. "He's lived here for ages, apparently. Ever since he was a little boy, I'm told. My parents remember growin' up with 'em around, see? Said he was never really friendly with the neighborhood kids, then up and left to go to some school. He's known around here as something of a freak. Hardly ever gets outta the house (when he's even there), and used to have a lot of freaky friends come by in masks and all." Then the boy's voice dropped low as though he though someone might overhear them; "I've heard he's got fangs for teeth an' bright red eyes, or at least that's what the kids who've seen 'em say."

Harry chuckled, "No, he's not. But he is always wearing black and his skin's about as pale as a vampire's."

"So why'd you come t' live with 'em, eh?"

"I don't really know," said Harry, half truthfully.

"Well, that's weird," said Nat, twirling a bit of dirty hair around one ear. "But I guess as long as you're here we ought to be friends. All the rest o' the kids've gone for the summer so it's jus' us two. C'mon, I'll show you the river!" He grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him off down the street away from Snape's home.

When they reached the embankment, Nat plopped down in the grass and laid back, head resting on his hands. Harry did the same and gazed out on the small river ruching past them.

"So where d'ya come from?" Nat asked, looking into space.

"Surrey, but I don't much like it there. I live with my aunt and uncle because my parents are dead, but they don't like me too much. It was pretty much a relief to learn I was coming here for the summer."

"Here?" said Nat resentfully. "This place is a Hell-hole if ever I saw one. Any place is better than this." He chucked a rock beside him into the churning currents.

"It could be worse," murmured Harry so that Nat could barely hear him. If not for Spinner's End he would still be an underfed punching bag for Dudley's gang, complete with broken glasses and a blackened eye (not to mention the other numerous injuries they could have inflicted since then). No, he was better off here being ignored and hated by his host than he ever would have been back at Number 4.

"So what is it you've got 'ere that you didn't back in Surrey?"

"A friend," Harry said simply. And it was the truth. Everyone back at home was too scared of Dudley's gang to get near him, and he told Nat so.

"Ugh, that's bloody awful!" Nat said, wrinkling his nose. "We don't really have none of that 'round here, y'know? No bullies or none of it. On this street, everyone's just trying to make a decent life, there's no time for real comforts and no kid's ever spoiled." He flicked his thumb ruefully, as though wishing he had a coin to flip.

The two boys passed the rest of the day fairly happily. Nat fetched a slightly flat football from his house and they took turns taking shots on each other in front of a makeshift goal.

Snape watched all this in the spelled cauldron water in his house. Seeing Potter interact with this muggle boy worried him a bit. The boy would soon be starting to develop his powers more fully, especially in the presence of a full-grown wizard. It was inevitable that he would perform magic, whether intentional or not in front of the muggle. _I will deal with that when it comes,_Snape told himself. _If he is anything like his dunderhead father, the boy will not start controlling his magic until he gets to school._ But deep down, Snape knew this wouldn't be the case. Ever since Dumbledore had showed him the rest of the prophecy which stated that this boy would have powers the Dark Lord knew not, Snape had been on the look out for any extraordinary ability. He hadn't seen any so far, but perhaps it was only a matter of time…

Snape knew that the smart thing to do would have been to break off the friendship early, not let Potter get too attached. But a voice nagged him, saying that it would be unbearable to live in the same house as a boy who was being forced apart from the only friend he had in this new place (he of course didn't know that Harry was friendless at Privet Drive as well).

i Best to let events unfold and deal with the consequences then. After all, how much trouble could the Potter boy get in at so young an age/i

About six o'clock that night, Harry squeezed through the front door, trying to not be noticed. He went upstairs, showered, and got into his change of clothes before going down to dinner. Snape was already there eating, but if he knew of Harry's outing that day he said nothing about it when Harry sat down across from him. In fact, they sat the whole meal in silence, neither one of them willing to discuss what they had done that day with one another. That was something that family or close friends did, and Harry and Snape certainly weren't either.

This routine continued for a couple of weeks, but the end of which Harry was more confused than ever about his host. He was starting to remind Harry of the Dursleys and how they sometimes tried to ignore him completely whenever he was in the room.

However, Harry didn't dwell too much on it. After all, he had a friend for the first time he could ever remember. He and Nat spent everyday from the morning 'till evening tramping around the street and the surrounding area. Not too far away was a rather large, wooded thicket with trees good for climbing.

It was on one of these climbing expeditions that Harry had his first real accident. He and Nat had been on a limb fairly high off the ground playing Tarzan when Harry's fingers slipped on the branch and he fell with a sickening crash to the ground. "Ahhh!" he cried as he felt his ankle give a great 'crack!'

"Harry!" Nat yelled, as he scrambled down the tree as quickly as he could. "Are you alright?"

"I think my ankle's broken," Harry said shakily, pulling his leg out from under his body. His ankle was indeed cocked at an odd angle and throbbed magnificently.

"Geez….here," Nat grabbed Harry just below his shoulder and hoisted him up. "You'll need to lean on me until we can get back to my house. It's closer."

"No, take me back to Snape's," Harry gasped out of the pain of putting a bit of weight on his left foot. He leaned heavily on his friend's shoulder, but he still didn't think he could get all the way down the hill and back to his house. It was just too far and his ankle hurt too badly. He took a few tentative steps, but they weren't any better than the first, and he had to call for his friend to stop.

"Nat," Harry wheezed after a particularly painful throb in his ankle. "Go down and get Snape for me. I'm not going to be able to make it, even with your help."

"Sure, anything," the boy said, and after making sure Harry was seated comfortably on a tree root, took off at a spring towards Spinner's End.

Harry was alone now. He could hear every fluttering leaf and every bird chirp. He was just starting to relax into the landscape when he heard a loud 'crack' behind him as though someone had just stepped on a rather crunchy branch.

Harry jerked around quickly, he had never seen anyone in these woods before and wasn't eager to meet anyone now in his handicapped state. Unfortunately, his view was obstructed by the tree trunk, so he was left to wait and wonder who the stranger was as the footsteps drew nearer at an alarmingly fast rate.

They were right behind him when he heard a familiar voice. "Potter," said Snape's harsh sneer. Harry looked up and saw the sallow face looking down at him with an unreadable expression. "Hold on," he said roughly before shocking Harry by picking him up in his arms. He was surprisingly powerful for how lean he was.

Then, with even greater surprise, Harry felt his eyes go black and his body squeeze through a very narrow, very thick tube. It was a most unpleasant sensation, but just as Harry was feeling as though he might faint, the sensation vanished, and Harry was able to see again.

The landscape before his eyes, however, was not the forest he had been in only a few moments before. Rather, as Harry realized with a gasp, they were in Snape's back garden.

"Woah! How did we…?" Harry trailed off, silenced by one withering look from Snape.

"Wait two minutes, will you, Potter?" he said in a bored voice. He carried Harry inside and sat him down in one of the kitchen chairs when they both heard a knock on the front door and the faint call of, "Mr. Snape?"

"That's my friend, Nat!" Harry realized with a jolt. "I sent him down here to get you!"

Without a word, Snape swept out of the kitchen and went to open the front door. Harry was just able to see Nat through the crack in the door. "Yes?" Snape said to the cowering boy outside.

"M-Mr. Snape. It's Harry, he's…he's hurt."

"Stop stuttering, boy. I already know."

"Y-you do? How?"

"No matter to you. Obliviate!" Harry saw a brilliant flash of light and Nat stood very still, his eyes slightly glazed. "Now go home and read a book or something." He shut the door in the dazed boy's face and swept back to the kitchen.

"What did you do to him?" Harry asked, the pain in his leg temporarily forgotten until it gave a rather stunning bolt through his leg.

"Wiped his memory," Snape growled, kneeling down to get a better look at the damage. "You must not talk to him about this incident ever again."

"Yessir."

"Now, what to do with this," Snape muttered to himself under his breath. He stood up suddenly and went to a cupboard where he grabbed a ceramic jar and pulled it from the shelf. He opened it and took a handful of powder, some of which leaked from between his fingers. Snape stepped over to a small, dilapidated fireplace in the corner of the room that Harry had never noticed before and threw the powder in it with great force. "The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts," he said loudly and deliberately. He got on his knees and thrust his head into the grate just as green flames erupted and consumed it.

Harry couldn't help but give a soft scream of terror, but settled down when he reminded himself that it was just more magic.

Snape stayed in that position for only about a minute before pulling himself out of the flames, straightening up and patting the dust off his robes. "I've got a healer to come and fix you right," he said. "She'll be here any second now."

Just as he said so, Harry heard a large woosh! and green flames again rose in the fireplace. When they cleared, Harry was shocked to see a woman in black and white robes and a matronly cap standing stooped over in the grate and patting herself down. "You know, you could build a larger fireplace, Severus," she said with a reproving, but slightly amused look.

Snape muttered something that sounded like "bugger off" to himself, but didn't say anything more.

The woman smirked and turned to Harry. "Hello, Harry. I'm Madam Pomfrey, the nurse at Hogwarts and I'll fix you up here in a jiffy. She knelt down in front of him, tapping Harry's leg up and down with her wand. "Now, how did this happen?" she asked delicately.

"My friend Nat and I were climbing trees in the thicket and I slipped off one of the branches."

"Ah yes, and where does it hurt exactly?"

"My ankle. I'm pretty sure it's broken; I couldn't walk back after I fell."

"Hmmm, let me see." She tenderly untied his decrepit shoe and rolled off his lumpy sock. Underneath, the skin was black and purple with a hint of yellow and was so swollen Harry was surprised his shoe hadn't split from his ankle's sudden growth. "Yes, yes, it's a break, and a pretty good one at that. But nothing I can't mend, eh?" She brought her wand tip to rest on Harry's enlarged ankle and started to murmur a long incantation under her breath which Harry couldn't catch.

Immediately, small strands of what looked like ghostly ribbons shot out of the tip of the wand and encased his entire foot. Harry felt a tingling sensation and, as suddenly as it had come, the pain vanished. The ribbons withdrew themselves into Madam Pomfrey's wand and his ankle was left there bare, but completely healed.

"Wow," Harry breathed. "That could come in handy with my cousin around. Thanks, Madam Pomfrey!"

"Oh dear, it was nothing. And call me Poppy, at least until you get to school that is." She winked at him, but then became suddenly stern. "If you need anything, dear, anything at all, don't hesitate to call." Harry nodded and she turned to Snape. "Thank you for calling me, Severus. You did the right thing. Contact me again if you have another problem.

Snape nodded curtly and handed her the powder-filled jar. She took some, threw it into the fireplace and ducked before saying, "The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts!" just as Snape had before she was gone in a flash of green fire.

Harry put his foot down on the cold, stone floor testily, trying his weight on it. He was surprised to find that it felt almost as though nothing had happened, and stood up without any pain. However, as he did so, a strange dizzying sensation clouded his head and he was forced to sit down again.

"Bed," said Snape's curt voice from his side. "Now." He waved his wand and Harry felt himself floating about a foot above the ground. Snape levitated him all the way back into his bed without actually stepping foot inside the boy's quarters. As soon as Harry had pulled his blankets over himself (he was still in his normal clothes and hadn't even bothered to pull of his other shoe), he fell asleep only to wake to a newly rising sun outside his window. _I must have slept for ages_ he though, rubbing the salt out of the corners of his eyes. At that moment his stomach growled loudly as if to confirm this, and he realized he hadn't eaten since breakfast of the previous day. _I need food._

He jumped out of bed, pulled on his other sock and shoe and bolted down the stairs. As he had expected, there was a plate full of breakfast waiting for him when he got to the kitchen. Snape was there too, reading the newspaper as usual. However, when he hear Harry enter the room he set the paper down and surveyed the boy with his piercing gaze.

"From the way you were thundering down the stairs, I assume you are feeling better, then." It wasn't a question.

"Yessir, and thanks for helping me out yesterday." Harry slid into his usual chair and started to eat, fully expecting Snape to pull up his newspaper and ignore Harry as he normally did. But, to Harry's surprise, he continued to stare at the boy, his expression unreadable as always. After a couple minutes of this uncomfortable silence he spoke.

"Yesterday you made an offhand comment that I wanted to ask you about."

Harry looked up and wiped his mouth on his napkin, eyebrows raised.

Snape continued; "You said that the bone-mending spell would be useful with your cousin around. What did you mean by that?"

Harry blushed slightly. "Ah, well, my cousin Dudley has this 'gang' together with three of his best mates from school. Everyone knows to stay away from them, but in my case it's a bit difficult. You see, they have this…er…game they like to play." Harry took a nervous breath, and looked down, playing with the food on his plate. "They call it 'Harry Hunting' and it usually ends up with me backed up into some corner and Dudley, or one of his mates, or all four of them together wailing on me. When I came here, my eyes was blacked and my glasses broken because he had beat me up earlier that day." Harry's cheeks went a little redder. He hated admitting that he was weak, especially to this man who seemed to already think so little of him.

Harry heard a snort from across the table, and looked up to see Snape smirking in a self-satisfied sort of way. He couldn't believe it. The man had ignored him, admonished him, belittled his parents, and now he was laughing at Harry's misfortunes! Could Snape possibly get worse?

"What?" Harry cried in anger and amazement at the man's incredible reaction to his story. He didn't expect Snape to throw him a pity party, but he certainly hadn't expected this either. "What's so funny?"

Snape continued to smirk at him. "Oh, nothing, it is just that I have realized how history has a cruel sense of irony, nothing more." He let out another snort of laughter that was completely devoid of mirth.

"What…what do you mean by that?" asked Harry, his voice cracking from trying to control his emotions.

"You father just seems a lot like your cousin. He always need three friends behind him whenever he would terrorize someone in the schoolyard. Looks like what goes around comes around." His smirk grew wider, evidently enjoying making Harry so enraged.

Harry was now fighting back the tears that were forming at the corners of his eyes with every once of strength he had. When he spoke, he pronounced each word deliberately and slowly so that his voice wouldn't shake. "My dad didn't terrorize people. And even if he did, I'm not my dad, so why should I get his punishment?" With that, he threw his fork and napkin down onto his plate with a clatter and ran off to his room.

Snape sat completely unmoving except for the knife he was twirling between his fingers. His smirk had faded, and his lips had now pursed themselves together slightly defensively. If he was to be honest with himself, the boy's last words had caught him by surprise. Potter was completely right, of course. As much as he looked like him, the boy wasn't his father. In fact, in terms of nature, he seemed quite the opposite.

Snape sighed. No matter what he did now, though, it wouldn't matter. He'd messed things up good now. Potter hated him, just as he'd wanted when they boy entered his house. i I will leave him be for a couple days. Let his anger subside a bit. Then again, if he holds a grudge like his parents… /i Snape shook off the idea. If that was the case, he'd be lucky to ever talk to Potter again.

For the rest of the day Harry stayed diligently sequestered in his room, coming out only for meals, and even then checking to make sure Snape wasn't in the kitchen before he entered. He didn't ever want to see that greasy git again. Going back to the Dursley's now seemed like a joy that would never come fast enough.

Harry fumed for the next couple of days, but, as he knew it would, he anger eventually began to fade. He wasn't any good at staying angry with a person, mainly because he was often so needy for friendship that he wasn't in any position to refuse company when he got it. That didn't mean he wouldn't act indignant whenever he saw Snape again, of course. But then again, it didn't really matter what he though, Snape hated him, and nothing would change that.

Therefore, Harry was very surprised when he went down to dinner than night to find Severus Snape sitting at the table seemingly waiting for him.

Harry sat down cautiously, not knowing what to make of the man's surprising presence. Then he remembered that he was supposed to be man at him and narrowed his eyes into a half-hearted glare.

Snape saw this and smiled inwardly. _Well, at least I do not have to worry about any grudge_. On the outside, however, he remained as cold and stoic as ever. "Potter, I have to make a trip into London to get some supplies tomorrow, and I was wondering if you cared to join me."

Harry's eyes lit up and he forgot whatever pretense of a grudge he was holding. "Of course!" he cried happily. Then, realizing he should keep himself in check said, "Yes, I would like that very much, sir."

"Good," Snape drawled. "Be up by 6:30, I want to get our shopping done before the crowds suffocate us. If you are not, I may have to leave you behind." He raised his eyebrow warningly.

They spoke no more for the rest of dinner, but Harry's hear was leaping in his chest. He'd never before been to London without being beat up by his cousin at some point along the trip. And besides, it sounded as though Snape was going to be taking him to some very interesting shops…

When Harry lay down for bed that night, it took him much longer than normal to drift off to sleep.


	5. Diagon Alley

**A/N: Okay, so I've been having major writers block with this story, so I wasn't going to post anything until I either got over it or decided I wasn't going to continue on. However, I've figured I'll just post my already posted chapters and hopefully something will hit me when I see some reviews. **

**So, you all know what that means, please leave me a little something, and hopefully i'll get more inspired soon! Thanks, all :)**

Diagon Alley

The next morning Harry woke with a start. He sat up yawning and blearily put on his glasses. His watch blinked 6:25, five minutes before his alarm was set to go off. But unlike most children his age, he didn't lie back down and wait for the beep. Today, he was far too excited.

He leapt from his bed, taking half the covers with him, and threw on his best clothes which were still incredibly shabby and about five sizes too big. Harry plucked at them forlornly. He wished he could look more presentable going into town, but he would just have to make due.

He pulled on his trainers, brushed his teeth, struggled to comb his hair flat (to no avail) and ran down the stairs to the kitchen at roughly a quarter to seven. Snape was already there, looking rather peculiar wearing a normal suit and tie instead of his customary robes. _But then again, _Harry thought, _he couldn't exactly go traipsing around London in that, could he? _

"Good morning," said Harry, rather more cheerfully than he had meant.

"Morning, Potter," Snape replied coldly, trying to hide his astonishment that the boy would address him at all. "Eat quickly, we have a bit of a trip today."

"But wait," said Harry through a mouthful of toast, "couldn't we just, you know, 'pop!' and be there? Like yesterday."

Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "First, Potter, do not talk while you are eating. Second, I think it would be best to arrive normally so we do not draw attention to ourselves. We will be taking the 7:10 train into London this morning, so please hurry up."

At 7:08 exactly Harry and Snape arrived on the platform to the metro train that would carry them into the city. They boarded quickly, Snape taking the lead and pulling Harry through the aisle looking for a vacant compartment. After a good ten minutes of searching they still hadn't found one.

"Sir," said Harry spotting a compartment with only one other passenger, a rather senile- looking old woman, "what about this one? There's only one…" But he was cut off by a growl from Snape.

"No, Potter. We cannot have anyone else in our compartment." He didn't elaborate further. Thankfully, it was then when they found an empty room, and Snape roughly pulled Harry into it. They sat opposite each other, and Snape started to rummage in his robes, pulling out his wand a second later. Scowling as he appraised Harry's clothes, he gave the wand a wide 'swish!' and Harry found his shirt and pants shrinking until they fit almost as if they had been tailored for him specifically. His eyes widened and the left corner of his mouth curled up into a reserved half-smile. Snape looked him up and down again and, apparently approving of what he saw, refocused his attention on Harry's face.

"Look at me, Potter," he said, his voice suddenly devoid of the gruffness it had possessed only a minute previous.

Harry looked up straight into his black eyes and Snape raised his wand so that it was almost touching the tip of Harry's nose. "Camerla," he said, flicking his wand up slightly. Harry looked around, trying to figure out what Snape had done, but saw nothing. It was then he noticed that his scalp was tingling and growing slightly hot. Reaching up to tough it he realized his hair was no longer the untidy mess it usually was. It was sleek and growing at an accelerated pace. Soon, Harry's vision was obscured as his locks grew over his eyes. It stopped just below his chin where it hung limp and lank.

His hair, however, didn't seem to be the only thing changing. Harry's nose was also experiencing the same hotness as his scalp, and when his fingers sought to feel it, found it pushing out at the bridge.

"What did you do that for?" Harry asked indignantly, wondering why his appearance needed to be changed.

"I did not want to be looking at your father's ungrateful face all day," Snape smirked at the crestfallen expression on the boy's face. "But more importantly, I do not think that it would be a good idea that you be seen with me in public, at least not yet anyway."

Harry was disappointed by Snape's discouraging answer. "Why? Am I that much of a freak?" he shot back spitefully. "That's why my aunt and uncle don't take me out."

Snape's smirk shrank slightly. "Actually, no, Potter. It is simply that people might get suspicious if they see me with Potter's son. Do not argue and do not ask questions. You will introduce yourself as Tom Snape and you are my father's great nephew. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Harry grumbled. He wanted to question this, but didn't think it was a good idea to incite Snape's anger before they even got to London.

They didn't talk for a while longer. Harry spent most of his time staring out the window, not because the landscape particularly interested him, but rather because he was trying to catch his reflection in the dirty glass. From the flashing glimpses he was able to get, he could see that he looked almost unrecognizable and much more like the man sitting across from him. He frowned, wondering if this was more of the 'punishment' Snape had talked about.

When they got to the station, Snape swept quickly out of the compartment and off the train, not even glancing behind to see if Harry was following him. Harry had to jog slightly to keep on his heels, and ran into his back with a soft thud when the man stopped abruptly.

"Watch where you are going, Potter," he hissed. "Now which way…" he muttered to himself. He looked up and down the street as though trying to decide where they were, but after only about a minute Snape turned on his heel and strode left up the street. They had walked only a few blocks when the man unexpectedly stepped into a shady pub that Harry would have never noticed otherwise.

As soon as they stepped inside, the noise of the street was completely silenced and was replaced by a dusty sort of quiet punctuated only by the buzz of several hushed conversations.

"Severus!" a voice spoke up, breaking through the thick air. "What can we do for you?" It was the bartender who spoke, as he came over to Snape and Harry while wiping down a very old, chipped glass.

"Nothing today, Tom," he said politely. "Maybe later, but I need to get some errands done before the alley becomes too suffocated with people."

"Yes, yes, very well. But ah! Who's this you have with you?"" He bent down to Harry's level, which wasn't much lower because of the bartender's bad back.

"This is a boy after your own name, Tom Snape. He is a cousin on my father's side." His voice was still as pleasant as Harry had ever heard it, but a slight undertone made it clear that he did not wish to answer any more questions on the subject.

Tom the bartender must have caught the hint, because he quickly straightened up as much as he could and looked back at Snape. "How nice," he said. "Hopefully we will see you and your cousin again later. Have a good day." He shuffled back behind the counter, still working on the hopeless mug.

"Come on," Snape said gruffly, walking out a door to the back of the pub. They stepped into a tiny brick courtyard with a couple of trashcans and no other way to get out. Harry was curious, and also a little wary. But Snape was paying no attention to him, rather he was counting the bricks over the trashcans and muttering something under his breath which Harry couldn't catch. Snape gave the wall a final tap and stood back as the brick started to split, opening on its own accord to a world beyond.

Harry blinked. He let out an involuntary gasp and stepped over the threshold. "Where _are _we?" he asked, eyes nearly popping out of his head as he watched people in robes and funny hats scurrying about. He turned to Snape questioningly, but gave another jolt of surprise we he saw that the man was no longer dressed in the plain black suit he had put on this morning. Rather, his customary black robes were back in place. "Whoa, when did you….?"

"Diagon Alley," Snape cut him off. "Come on, I see there is already a crowd." He started swiftly up the street, not pausing to look at any of the fascinating items in the shop windows. Harry jogged to keep up, but nearly lost his guide several times when he saw some magical item that just couldn't be ignored.

He was wondering where they were going when he suddenly saw an intimidating large white marble building seemingly rise out of the ground in front of them. He gawked as he realized they were headed right for it and sped up his pace to catch Snape. A minute later they passed through the gilded doors and into a foyer larger than any Harry had ever seen before. They walked up to one of the counters and met with a very strange creature.

The goblin, as Harry learned the thing was, led them through a back door and into a rather dark room after a hastily whispered conversation with Snape.

"Where are we going?" Harry spoke softly. He had the strongest sensation that this was not a place to go shouting about your business. Knowing Snape, he wasn't really expecting the man to tell him anything other than to keep his mouth shut and follow.

He was therefore surprised when the man answered in a low voice. "My vault, and then yours. After all, money _is _slightly essential if we want to buy anything today." His tone dripped with sarcasm, but didn't hold any of the sharpness of the day before.

"Money? But I don't have any money? Why would we go to my vault?"

"Of course you have money," Snape snapped. "Your parents _died, _they didn't vanish their assets too." He frowned slightly, but said no more.

Harry was, for what seemed like the millionth time since Dumbledore had first arrived on his doorstep, taken unawares. He had money? That would be a first! But what would he buy? There were so many possibilities!

The rumbling cart they rode in made a sudden stop in front of what Harry assumed was Snape's vault door. "Stay here," he hissed, leaving Harry behind as he surreptitiously went through his vault. Harry wondered why Snape didn't want him to see inside, but respected his privacy all the same.

He came back to the cart with a small bag in his hands that clinked with coins, and then rapped twice on the door indicating to the goblin that he was ready. And they were off again. Harry was enjoying the roller coaster ride immensely, but curbed the impulse to let out a yell when he saw Snape's unflinching, ever stoic face.

Only about a minute later the cart made another abrupt halt. He and Snape clambered out and came to stand in front of the door. Snape rummaged through the inside of his robe and pulled out a tiny, silver key with his long, pale fingers.

The key fit perfectly in the lock, and when it was turned, Harry could hear a tandem of clicking sounds on the inside of the door as if a hundred locks were being released. The door swung open with relative ease, but a large cloud of dust obscured the contents of the vault and they had to wait for several seconds before it cleared out.

Harry gasped. The mounds upon mound of sliver, gold, and bronze were so far beyond anything he had ever hoped to dream of that his denial was, at first, acute. "No," he said under his breathe as he tried to step out of the vault. "No way!"

However, as he began to back out, he hit a very solid object that seemed to bring him back to reality. He looked up into the face of his guardian only to see that a rather shocked look was plastered on his face. After only a flash, though, his unreadable expression was back up again.

"Is this…is this really all mine?" Harry gawked at the coins.

"I will ignore that rather stupid question if you hurry up. Here," he thrust a small bag into Harry's hand, "get as much as you would like. But remember, although it looks like a lot right now, you have to live on this for the next ten years of your life, so use it wisely."

Harry nodded, not really allowing any of what Snape said to sink in. He quickly piled as much as he could into the sack; he could worry about prudence later.

The ride back to the main foyer of Gringotts was made in uncomfortable silence. Snape, for his part, was still trying to comprehend the amount of money in Potter's vault. He had always known that the Potters were well off, but never _that _much so. The tiny, and unacknowledged speck of jealousy that Snape had always garnered for the pampered Potter's position grew a bit more, though he would die before admitting it.

He did realize however, that the warning he gave Potter was very real, and that his vault was, more than anything, an illusion of wealth. Without supplements to that pile of gold or a stingy hand with money, he may have a difficult time paying for everything in his later years at Hogwarts

When they stepped back out of the building Harry eyes were so adjusted to the darkness of the bank that it took him a few seconds to readjust the blinding sunlight. There were more people in the Alley now, but Harry had eyes only for the merchandise. How much money was he holding and how much could he buy with it?

Snape was already headed off up the street so Harry was obliged to follow. They visited the apothecary and some shop for cauldrons, but the one place that really caught Harry's eye was the bookstore.

He had never been much of a reader, but, just as he had felt while looking at the titles in Snape's library, Harry was inexorably drawn to these books. He was perusing the shelves, trying to choose which one he wanted to take home when he felt a looming shadow over his shoulder. "Sir?" he said looking up into Snape's scowling face, "I was…I was just wondering if I could by a book or two to take back to my aunt and uncle's?" Harry's eyes were pleading, though he didn't realize it.

"Of course. It would help to jog that mind before you come back next summer. But these," he made a small gesture to the shelf Harry had been looking at, "are not suitable subject matter for a child such as yourself. Follow me." He turned on his heel and led to a part of the store where all the shelves were within Harry's reach, and the book covers were more fancifully decorated.

Snape bent over, scanning the titles with his eyebrows pinched as though looking for something specific. He must have found it, because a small smirk of triumph curled his lips and he stood up with a rather small, but rather thick emerald green tome with no title on it. He stepped back over to Harry and held it out for him.

"You may get another book if you wish, but I think it necessary for you to at least be familiar with these if you wish to fit in with the wizarding community when you are older. This is a collection of wizard myths and fairy tales that every young wizard is told while growing up. I do not wish for you to appear more ignorant than you already are when someone mentions the Ouroboros and you stare back at them blankly."

"Th-thank," Harry stuttered. Was this actual kindness from Snape? Behind the insult, of course. No, he just didn't want Harry to blow his cover, that's all. He was posing as someone who had grown up in the wizarding world after all. He turned back to the shelves and picked a book called, 'A Diminutive Guide to Defense Against the Dark Arts' before going to the counter to check out. The cashier helped him sort out the money, and he laid down one galleon and two silver sickles for the two books.

He met up outside with Snape who had already checked out before Harry and the two of them made their way down the street. He knew they were going to go home soon, but there was one thing he wanted to do before leaving London.

"Uh, Snape?" he inquired timidly. The man's raised eyebrow told Harry he was listening. "I was just wondering if, on the way back to the train, we could maybe stop and I could get some normal, muggle clothes? I mean…"

"Very well," Snape cut him off. "But you have to make it quick, our train leaves in about an hour." The man looked down and him, showing his slight displeasure. But when Snape's eyes looked back to the street he stopped dead in his tracks and grabbed Harry by the back of his t-shirt. He swerved quickly to the right, pulling Harry with him. He had just seen a face that he had really hoped to avoid today…

"Your name is Tom Snape, remember that," he whispered fervently into Harry ear as he pulled the boy to the nearest open shop. "Your name is Tom Snape."

Harry tried to look at him questioningly, but was so focused on not tripping that all he managed to do was spit out a strangled, "What's going on?"

"Snape!" called a smooth voice from behind them. Snape stopped suddenly and let out a groan so that only Harry could hear. He turned around slowly as he composed himself.

Harry turned too, trying to catch a glimpse of who had called Snape's name. He saw a rather regal looking man with long, perfectly straight, silver-blonde hair and a snake-headed walking stick. The odd expression that seemed to blend a smirk with pursed lips said that he obviously wasn't expecting to see Snape in Diagon Alley, but was not disappointed to have done so.

The man's eyes fell from Snape's face to Harry's own and at that moment he knew that this man was trouble. He stared straight back, however, forcing his face to stay expressionless as he had seen Snape do so many times.

The blond man raised his eyebrow and lost any hint of displeasure or surprise. "And who, may I ask, is this, Snape?" he said delicately.

Snape looked at him, stony faced, "Hello Lucius, this is a distant cousin of mine, Tom Snape."


End file.
